


Under the Looking Glass

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2019 [34]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Aged Up, Fake Kissing that turns into Real Kissing, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, God what a dumbass tag but idk how else to categorize it x.x, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 05:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Tezuka was drawn into Fuji's creative orbit when he accompanied his friend on his photography outings, but the finale was something neither of them expected. That being said, Tezuka wanted more of it nonetheless.





	Under the Looking Glass

Their walk home after practice was quiet and slow, as it usually was when Fuji and Tezuka left together. Fuji’s bag was over his right shoulder and Tezuka’s over his left, while their open shoulders brushed together. It was a hot day and there was no need to walk so closely, but they did because they always have. 

Ever since Tezuka finally opened up to Fuji and shared some of what went on in his head, this became part of their daily routines. Here and there, they would break routine by diverting to the library to finish homework, but their ultimate destination was the same: side by side until their different destinations pulled them apart.

However, this day was an aberration from the moment they left the school grounds. “Do you mind if we head over to Shutters? I need to pick up some film?”

“Of course.” Tezuka nodded and changed direction toward a nearby shopping center where a hole in the wall photography store housed what Fuji deemed the best film for the price.

Shutters was a mystery to him, full of lenses and cameras with specifications he wasn’t fully able to discern the differences between them. An entire wall was dedicated to film, all in similar packaging but nothing alike in quality, according to Fuji. 

But soon they were back on their way, back on routine, and Tezuka missed it already. However, there was a lightness to Fuji’s step, and Tezuka did something he rarely ever does: interrupt the silence.

“What is your next subject?” he asked, giving the swell of the film canisters in Fuji’s pocket a pointed look. 

Fuji smiled wide. “I’m going to the botanical gardens to find the plants people consider ugly and show how beautiful they are.”

Tezuka stopped abruptly, letting his mind absorb Fuji’s words. Find something ugly and make it beautiful. The endeavor suited Fuji’s sensibilities, and Tezuka was intrigued. “When are you going?”

“Saturday, after morning practice.” Fuji’s fingers drummed against his pocket. “It’ll be more crowded than I’d like, but there will be plenty of people to ask which plants they think are the ugliest.”

Nodding, Tezuka understood the logic. He was fascinated by the thoughts that swirled around in Fuji’s head. It was doubtful that many could discern Fuji’s world the way he did, but Tezuka had to admit that he enjoyed the process of trying.

“May I join you?” It was something Tezuka had never offered or asked for, but he was interested nonetheless.

Fuji beamed. “Of course.” He looped his elbow with Tezuka’s and tugged them in the direction of Fuji’s house, altering their usual route that split the difference between their respective homes. “Let me show you the sets I’ve done so far.”

It had been a while since Tezuka had seen the outside of Fuji’s house, and he had never been inside. The course of the day was mounting in the sheer number of aberrations, but Tezuka was interested rather than irritated by the interruptions. 

The inside of Fuji’s room made Tezuka’s eyes twitch. Haphazard stacks of books covered every available surface while various photographs hung from lines strung from nearly every wall. Bed unmade and laundry flowing over unfolded from the basket dropped at the foot of it.

Tezuka was halfway through tugging the covers into some semblance of order before Fuji slapped his hand and said, “Enough of that. Come look at these.”

Fuji drew his attention to a particular group of photos, strung along the wall next to the window. “Birtworth. Corpse flower. Monkey cups. Every online ugliest flower listicle has these on it. I’m curious to see what else people find repulsive.”

He didn’t know much about plant life, but Tezuka couldn’t deny the allegations against these particular specimens. His mother would not allow any of those anywhere near her flower beds, and didn’t want to ask why the corpse flower was named thus.

From there, Fuji turned his attention to another string of pictures. These were far more attractive, the angles and scope of them magnificent even to his untrained eye. Fuji was grinning beside him. “What would you say if I told you these were the same plants as the ones over there?”

Tezuka blinked in surprise. “I would deny it, but now that you mention it, I can see it now.”

“This is what I’m going for,” Fuji explained. “Things that are ugly or unpleasant at first glance, but when you look at them from a different point of view, they’re actually quite stunning.”

More enthused than he would have thought about their impending expedition to the botanical gardens, Tezuka absorbed the rest of his tour with mounting interest. Fuji’s work was very good, and he looked forward to seeing the creation process.

The walk home from Fuji’s house was strangely lonely, and Tezuka found himself lengthening his strides to end the journey more quickly. It was an odd sensation, missing someone he had just seen ten minutes before, and Tezuka did his level best to push that absurd idea from his mind.

  
  


Saturday rolled around, and Tezuka rinsed off the rigors of practice quicker than usual. He caught Fuji watching him with a cryptic smile, and Tezuka averted his own gaze to hide the telltale reddening of his cheeks. 

The idea of Fuji knowing he was looking forward to their day out together didn’t bother him, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that smile Fuji got when he looked like he knew something the other person didn’t and was nearly always correct. He almost didn’t want to know what he didn’t know. Almost.

Once they reached the toll gates at the gardens, Tezuka was reaching into his pocket for his wallet to pay his admission when the clerk waved them on through. “Welcome back, Shuusuke-kun.”

“A pleasure as always, Masaharu-san.” In seconds, they were inside the gardens, surrounded by the heady sweet scent of hundreds of different flowers mingling together. Fuji made a pit stop at a bench to root around in his shoulder bag for his camera and one of the several lenses in its depths.

Tezuka offered to carry Fuji’s bag to keep his hands free, and Fuji accepted with a smile. “I appreciate it. I’m not used to company, but I like it very much.”

With a curt nod, Tezuka resumed his earlier task of watching Fuji as much as he could without getting caught staring. Life danced in Fuji’s eyes as he sought the perfect angle on every ugly plant he found. Two rolls of films later, they ended their journey in the picking garden, where every guest of the facility could choose one long-stemmed bloom to take home with them. 

Fuji quickly decided on a daisy, but Tezuka stared at the vast array of flowers and frowned. He didn’t do flowers, so he had no idea which one he would like. Even if he were to give it to his mother, he didn’t know what kinds of flowers she liked, or if she even liked them at all.

“Trouble deciding?” At Tezuka’s grunt of affirmation, Fuji steered him toward another row and snipped a flower with a pair of scissors Tezuka didn’t recall seeing on Fuji’s person or in the bag. He handed the flowering cluster to Tezuka. “This is an iris. The purple suits you, don’t you think?”

Tezuka carefully accepted the flower and appreciated the fact that if he had known that particular one was there, it was exactly what he would have chosen. “Indeed,” he replied. He brought it close to his face to take in the scent, and the motion was met with the click of a shutter.

Fuji peeked over the top of his camera. “I hope that one comes out. I’ve never seen you make a face like that before.”

And like that, the moment ended. The flower lowered, Fuji’s camera made its way back into the bag, their outing was over.

The walk back to the Fuji residence was quiet, with Tezuka twirling the flower between his fingers. At the front walk, the two of them halted at the front door. “It was very nice spending time with you today. I would love to do it again.”

“As would I.” Tezuka held up the flower in salute. “What is your next subject?”

Fuji leaned in to inhale the sweet scent of the iris, his eyes slipping closed as he sighed. “Love. My next subject is love.”

Tezuka’s fingers clenched a little too hard around the flower stem, and he felt the subtle snap of it beneath his fingers. “That’s certainly different than ugly flowers.”

“Is it, though?” Fuji’s finger traced the delicate curves of the flower’s petals. “Everything in nature exists with a purpose, and it is perfectly suited to fulfil that purpose. No matter what they look like, they are beautiful for that reason alone. What better kind of love could one ask for?”

The entire subject matter bewildered Tezuka, so he replied with a lame, “If you say so.”

“I do.” Fixing Tezuka with a radiant smile, Fuji asked, “Would you like to contribute?”

Tezuka raised a brow. “Oh?”

Fuji tucked his daisy behind his ear. “There is love everywhere. Parents, siblings, lovers, pets, and all kinds of other things. We’ll find them and take them home with us.”

“I’m not sure I’m qualified for such things.” 

“Of course you are.” Fuji gave Tezuka’s hand a squeeze. “Tomorrow, then?”

Tezuka nodded, and as he headed home for the day, he wondered how he had been drawn into this. However, he now had a stake in Fuji’s endeavors, and he found himself in possession of an almost irrational desire for the next day to come so he could find what it brings.

 

It was with no small amount of fascination that Tezuka watched Fuji hone in on the most minute of details. Parents and children, pets and owners, happy customers and ice cream on a hot day, and more than a few couples holding hands as they strolled aimlessly on a lazy Sunday.

“These will be lovely, I think.” Fuji stowed his camera and meandered alongside Tezuka as they headed back to the Fuji household to finish up the day’s work.

Tezuka hummed. “You have a very . . . nuanced understanding of humanity.” 

Fuji nodded. “It’s always fascinating to watch people interact with the world. I’m just lucky enough to capture it here and there.”

Once they arrived at Fuji’s home, Tezuka was about to bid him a good rest of the day when Fuji said, “Please come in. There is one last thing I want to capture, but I don’t think I want to do it out here.”

“All right.” Tezuka eyed him cautiously but followed Fuji nonetheless. 

Settting down on his bed, Fuji fished out his camera once again and checked the back of it. “Two shots left. I saved them just for you.”

“For me?” Tezuka’s brows knit in confusion. “Why would you want to take a picture of me?”

Chuckling, Fuji shook his head. “I’m surprised you don’t know, but you never do think about yourself as much as you probably should.” He scooted closer to Tezuka. “Besides tennis, what is it that you love?”

“I --” He frowned. “I don’t actually know.”

“Ah.” Fuji stood and said, “Why don’t you think about it a bit. I’ll be back in a moment.”

And think, he did. Tezuka turned over a litany of things in his head, struggling to identify what it was that he loved. As Fuji mentioned, he loved tennis and also his teammates. He didn’t always show it, but he was certain he did. He loved his parents because they supported him in everything he strove to accomplish. 

His train of thought derailed when Fuji returned with a photograph in hand. “It was the first one I wanted to develop.”

It was the shot of Tezuka with his flower from the day before, and he was taken aback by the unfamiliar sight of his own face softened by a smile. “You surprised me with that.”

“I couldn’t let myself forget it, now could I?” Fuji gently stroked the petals of his daisy from the previous day and sighed. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for one last pose. Feel free to say no.”

Eyes still riveted by the bizarre mask of ease on his own face in the photograph, Tezuka murmured, “What did you have in mind?”

Fuji’s hand, roughened by years of tennis but a soft touch nonetheless, cupped Tezuka’s cheek and his breath stalled in his throat. “Would you let me kiss you?”

“Why?” Tezuka rasped, his voice sandpaper to his own ears.

Fuji’s smile was radiant, and his nose wrinkled just a little bit under its influence. “Because I want to see what your face looks like when I do.” His expression sobered, and he added, “But you don’t have to by any means. If you say no, I won’t ask you ag —”

“Yes.” Tezuka’s pulse was loud and insistent in his veins, and his heartbeat was akin to running twenty laps around the tennis court.

Tezuka had no idea why he had agreed to it. He was seventeen and had never been kissed before. If he wanted to before this, he was sure he could have managed it, but it didn’t seem important. However, with Fuji’s strong yet delicate grip against his skin and wide, shining eyes looking at him like he was the only thing in the room, he wanted to see Fuji’s vision come to life, as well.

The tips of Fuji’s fingers dragged down the line of his jaw, and Tezuka fought the urge to shiver at the sensation. “I’ll be right back.”

Fuji’s deft hands whisked through the task of mounting his camera on a tripod and attaching some sort of corded remote to it, as well. In moments, Tezuka was standing chest to chest with Fuji, his eyes firmly fastened on the soft swell of Fuji’s lips. He could even smell the vanilla chapstick Fuji had applied earlier.

“You look so nervous.” Fuji chortled as he held up the remote, which showed a preview of what the camera lens could see. 

Tezuka winced when he caught sight of his face, burning red at the prospect of offering his first kiss to Fuji. But he wasn’t nervous. He couldn’t quite affix a word to the way his belly lurched into uncomfortable, excited knots. Maybe it was nerves; it wasn’t a familiar state of being for him, so he wouldn’t know.

One thing was certain, however: he was going to go through with this no matter what.

He cupped Fuji’s soft jawline and brushed his thumb across the breadth of Fuji’s cheek. Arms looped around his shoulders, camera remote and all. Some basic instinct guided his own arms to wrap around Fuji’s waist, and in a moment they were impossibly close. Tezuka didn’t think he had been this close to anyone before since he was a small child, but there was something heady about another person’s warmth mingling with his own.

And he liked it.

The purpose of this endeavor rapidly fading from Tezuka’s mind, he leaned down to press his lips to Fuji’s. His eyes fluttered shut on their own, and their mouths moved against one another in search of an angle where their noses weren’t in the way.

When they found it, Tezuka bit back a groan. Tension and panic and thrill all mixed together in his chest, only diluted when the telltale shutter sound of Fuji’s camera snapped him back into reality. 

Whatever Tezuka was feeling, Fuji almost certainly was not. It was an experiment, a mission, and not something done for its own sake. He wasn’t a partner; he was a subject. Fuji’s sharp mind and brisk field of perception offered him many subjects, but the thought of being on the receiving end of Fuji’s dispassionate focus left him feeling exposed.

Tezuka wrenched his mouth away and did not open his eyes. Where Fuji’s calm concentration had once put him at ease, here it only put him under a looking glass. He found he didn’t care for that concept at all.

They were still snared in each other’s embrace, but Tezuka had never felt so far away from his closest friend and companion. “That was . . . interesting,” he offered lamely.

Fuji let out a soft laugh. “It certainly was. I didn’t expect that at all.”

“What?” Tezuka’s eyes snapped open, and he gaped at Fuji while waiting for an answer. Tezuka had not gone into this with expectations, so he failed to wrap his head around what exactly it was Fuji was going for.

Tugging them closer together, Fuji murmured, “I didn’t think I’d enjoy it so much. Or you, either, for that matter.”

Did Fuji see through him that easily, into that yawning gap between how Tezuka had perceived the idea of  _ them _ before and how he perceived it now?

“You think too much,” Fuji whispered. He tossed the camera remote on his bed and wrenched Tezuka’s face to his for a deeper, darker, much more demanding kiss.

Fuji propelled them back toward the wall, sandwiching himself between the soft green painted expanse and Tezuka. Something powerful ignited in Tezuka, and he ground their hips together while his mouth roved the pale length of Fuji’s neck. Something akin to a growl vibrated in Fuji’s throat, fueling Tezuka’s borderline animalistic desire to leave a strand of marks everywhere he could find. 

Both of them were breathless and wide-eyed when Tezuka finally pulled back for air. His chest heaved, and the sight of Fuji’s hair askew and a telltale red mark blossoming right above the collar of his t-shirt stirred a groan of appreciation from Tezuka.

“I hope you don’t mind doing that more often.” Fuji slouched against the wall, eyes closed and a wide smile gracing his lips. “It’s very nice.”

“It is.” Tezuka snared one more quick kiss before he stepped back to collect himself. “And yes. That would be agreeable.”

Fuji covered his mouth to muffle a laugh. “You sound like you’re negotiating a contract. Don’t sign on the dotted line. Just  _ feel.” _

And feel, he did. It was Tezuka Kunimitsu’s very first kiss with Fuji Shuusuke, but it certainly wasn’t the last.


End file.
